The instant she entered the mezzanine salon, Flora Denton excused herself from her group and came to Dianthe’s side. “Thanks heavens you’ve come. I believe I have learned something rather startling.”
Dianthe followed her to the banquette, almost afraid to hope. Once they were settled, Flora glanced around to make certain they would not be overheard. Dianthe patted her hand, trying to reassure her. “What did you learn, Miss Denton?”
“Elvina Gibson whispered that Nell was afraid of someone.”
Elvina Gibson? Ah, yes—the dark woman who had glared at her last night at the Blue Moon. “Did she say whom? Or why?”
“She said that Nell had overheard a conversation and that something ‘shocking’ was afoot. Before Elvina could ask more, Nell hurried off. That was just days before she was murdered.”
Puzzled, Dianthe frowned. “She must have spoken with someone in the meanwhile. Think, Miss Denton. Are you certain she said nothing to you?”
Tears sprang to the woman’s eyes. “Do you think I have not asked myself that question a thousand times? It was not like Nell to keep scandal to herself. ’Tis true she was rather cryptic earlier that day, but she did not behave as if she was afraid of anyone.”
“How was she cryptic?”
“I recall her saying that…that she had learned something that would set her up for life, but that it came with a difficult decision. It was so like Nell to dramatize her life. I assumed it had to do with an offer from one of her gentlemen. And still, I cannot be certain it was anything more than that.”
Dianthe examined the statement, trying to think of possible explanations. Had Nell referred to an offer of the much-desired cottage and life annuity? Or could she have known something worthy of blackmail, and her victim killed her instead of paying hush money? A business venture could also explain such a statement. But it was more likely that she had been referring to Afton’s offer of help. Oh, Nell! Why couldn’t you have found me sooner?
“Heavens!” Flora whispered. “Here comes Munro and Senor Ramirez.”
Dianthe looked up to see Lewis Munro and Juan Ramirez coming toward them. What was it about Senor Ramirez that piqued her curiosity? She could tell that Flora felt the same as she and Miss Tucker.
“Now how is this? The two prettiest ladies at Thackery’s, and they have their heads together instead of with ours? Unthinkable,” Munro pronounced.
Flora smiled and fluttered her fan, but Dianthe watched Senor Ramirez’s face. His expression was curious, but faintly distant. As if he were observing only, and had no real interest in them. But then he turned his full attention to her and the intensity of his gaze told her otherwise.
She stood and took Mr. Munro’s offered arm, turning him toward the vingt-et-un table. “You know ’ow the fairer sex enjoys sharing confidences, Mr. Munro. Miss Denton and I are becoming dear friends, are we not, Miss Denton?”
In the absence of an answer, Dianthe glanced over her shoulder. Flora was flushed but silent, and Dianthe was surprised to see that even courtesans could form a crush. She was about to say something to draw the others into her conversation with Mr. Munro when Flora took a deep breath, tilted her head to one side and gave Senor Ramirez a dazzling smile.
A quick flash of something carnal passed across Senor Ramirez’s face. Dianthe suddenly realized, in a way she hadn’t before, what it meant to be a courtesan, and to have one’s living, one’s very existence, dependent upon pleasing men. To surrender one’s very self to a virtual stranger in an intimate act was beyond her imagination. When she tried to think of herself with Mr. Munro or Mr. Ramirez, a shudder of revulsion passed though her—and a new sympathy for the women of the demimonde.
Mr. Munro patted her hand on his arm. “Are you cold, Miss Deauville? Shall I fetch your wrap or shawl?”
“No, M’sieur. It is gone. Per’aps there was a draft.”
“Are you with Morgan again tonight?”
“Oui. Lord Morgan is my…my—”
“You have become his mistress?”
“Oui,” she said, a little embarrassed that she had stumbled over the word lover. She had learned enough to know that a true courtesan would have declared such a thing with pride.
“Ah, you are Morgan’s woman?” Senor Ramirez asked, a look of interest in his dark eyes.
“You know him?” she inquired.
“By reputation,” he answered, and glanced at Munro.
The other man cleared his throat. “I hope you will not think I have overstepped if I give you a gentle warning in that regard.”
Dianthe gazed up into his pale blue eyes. “In regard to Lord Geoffrey? Mais non! Please do not ’esitate.”
“Be very careful around him. Of course you know his reputation as a dangerous man to the women he is near, but have any of your friends warned you that, for all his cool control, he has a violent temper?”
“Oui?” She’d seen flashes of his temper, but it had always been tightly controlled. What might happen if it were unleashed? “No, Monsieur. Surely such a thing would be common knowledge.”
Munro gave her a canny grin. “I did not mean that he is clumsy between the sheets. And, my dear, as you know, it could be foolhardy to expose a man’s faults, especially as he is most generous with the congé.”
“Alors! This is the conspiracy of silence?”
“One could say so.” Munro sighed and squeezed her hand. “Discretion is the hallmark of the demimonde, which would explain why his women do not make public appearances for a time after one of his losses of temper.”
Horrified, Dianthe paused and turned to face Munro, seeking clarification. “’E does violence? Physical violence?”
“I regret to say that has been the case in many instances. And now, with Nell…well, need I say more?”
A prickle of fear shot up Dianthe’s spine. Had Lord Geoffrey been the “he” that Nell spoke of? She glanced at Flora for confirmation, but Miss Denton would not meet her gaze. This was very peculiar.
That a reputable man like Lewis Munro could believe such a thing about Geoffrey Morgan was sobering. After all, he had been married to Lord Geoffrey’s sister. Surely he would know such personal things about his brother-in-law.
Chapter Twelve
Geoff studied Miss Lovejoy from his position facing her, wondering what had changed since their arrival at Thackery’s earlier. The coach ride home promised to be as silent as the ride to the gaming hell, though there was considerably more tension now. Was her little escapade as a courtesan beginning to pall? He hoped so.
For his part, he was losing again. Every time he took Dianthe with him, his losses exceeded his gains. His mind was more on her whereabouts and well-being than on the game at hand. Oh, he hadn’t lost enough money to endanger either the funding to trap el-Daibul or his own standard of living, but the matter was disconcerting.
Miss Lovejoy sighed and shifted in her seat. Her shawl slipped off her shoulders, affording a glimpse of the exposed skin above her neckline. Even in the dim light of the coach, the sight caused a constriction in his throat and a firming in his loins. Her gown and that shade of blue complemented her to perfection. He realized with a little pang of regret that, had she been a courtesan in fact, she’d have been far above his touch. He’d have had the money to pay for her, but never the social standing or consequence to win her.
She turned to him and caught his study. “Did you have a question, my lord?”
“I was wondering if you are making progress with your queries.”
She glanced down at the reticule in her lap. “They have begun to bear fruit.”
“Well?”
She looked up again, her expression curious. “I thought you were not interested in my investigation.”
“Indulge me, if you please.”
“Very well. I have learned that Miss Brookes told Elvina Gibson that she was afraid of someone. That she had overheard a conversation and that something shocking was afoot. But Miss Gibson did not know who Nell overheard, or w
hy she was frightened.”
Geoff sat forward. Now this was interesting. Why hadn’t Elvina said anything to him about this? He’d have to quiz her on the subject. “Did she say anything else?”
“No. Very shortly afterward, Nell was killed.”
He sat back, digesting the information.
“But Miss Denton said earlier that day, Nell told her she’d just learned something that could set her up for life,” Dianthe added, “but that it came with a difficult decision. Miss Denton thought perhaps she’d had an offer from a gentleman. Later—afterward—she wondered if Nell might have been planning to blackmail someone.”
Afraid of someone? Blackmail? Miss Lovejoy was right. She had been able to learn things as a woman and a member of the demimonde that he and Harry Richardson hadn’t. “Anything else?” he asked.
She shook her head. “But I think I will seek Miss Gibson out and question her more closely. There may be something she did not realize the significance of.”
The thought of Dianthe putting herself at risk for this endeavor raised the hair on the back of his neck. Though she’d made it clear that he hadn’t the right to curtail her in any way, his instincts urged him toward that. But, damn it, he couldn’t risk taking responsibility for her. For her sake.
He crossed his arms over his chest, trying to shut her out. “I was just reflecting upon how easily you’ve found a niche in the demimonde.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am. For one so high-minded and morally superior as you, it must grate upon your nerves to associate with those so clearly your inferiors.”
A deep flush colored her cheeks. “Have you always seen me in such a harsh light, Lord Geoffrey?”
“You’ve certainly been unforgiving with me, Miss Lovejoy.”
“That is different.”
“How so?”
“You had social standing and threw it away for base pursuits. But the poor souls I have come to know are merely surviving in the best way they can. And you, and men like you, are only too glad to take advantage of them.”
He grinned. “For your information, in regard to your new sisterhood, I’ve always given more than I’ve taken—in every possible way.”
She gasped at his audacity and turned to hide what was certainly a vivid blush.
He couldn’t stop there. “And if I, and men like me, did not take what these women offer, how would they support themselves? Would you not say it is our obligation to see that their efforts do not go for naught? What do you think their lives would be like if men like me did not purchase their wares?”
“Do not try to make something noble in…in—”
He laughed. “So,” he persisted, “is your continuing disapproval of me based upon my gambling and taking mistresses? Would you like me better if I seduced young maidens, instead? The delicate flowers of the ton? I know men who do just that, yet stroll through drawing rooms as though they’ve not betrayed a single father’s trust.”
“I think I would like you better if you could control your…your base impulses.”
He stopped himself before he could tell her exactly how much control he had exercised to keep from ravishing her. Instead, a different caution was in order. “Speaking of base impulses, do I need to caution you again in regard to Lewis Munro?”
“Do not bother. I cannot think what you have against him, but I have always found him to be a true gentleman.”
“Have you?” Geoffrey was unable to keep the chill from his voice. “He is likely biding his time while he waits for you to be unprotected and easy prey.”
“Oh! You are insufferable! The poor man is mourning the loss of his wife and the baby she carried.”
An icy chill settled in his gut. Charlotte had been expecting? Bloody hell! Another death on his conscience! “Where did you hear that?”
“Miss Denton told me. Mr. Munro is quite bereft. I have nothing but sympathy for the poor man.”
“That sympathy is just what will leave you vulnerable when he makes his move. He has cultivated it deliberately. The unconscionable bastard is an abuser of women, and I have reason to believe he killed my sister.”
Her eyes widened. “That is preposterous! Slanderous! He warned me about you.”
“Did he?” Geoffrey sat forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. “How interesting. What, precisely, did he tell you?”
“That you are prone to violent tempers. That your mistresses do not make appearances for many days after one of your outbursts. He…he suggested that you abuse women and that I should be very careful around you.”
“Good God, Miss Lovejoy! You would be the first to know such a thing. No woman has ever tempted me more to violence than you, and yet you are still untouched. Munro has laid his crimes at my door—accused me of committing his sins.”
A frown knit tiny lines between her brows as she absorbed this news. “But why would he tell such a lie, Lord Geoffrey?”
Did she find it easier to believe Munro than him? That stung. He gave her a disgusted look and she blinked.
Another blush pinked her cheeks. “You think he wanted me to distrust you and seek his protection?”
“What has he to lose? And if you are gullible enough to believe him, he’d consider it a personal victory. He destroyed my sister, and he’ll destroy you, as well.”
Her next question surprised him. “Why have you let him live, if you believe that? If someone killed my sister, I’d do whatever was necessary to obtain justice.”
“Believe me, I’ve done everything possible to prove a case against him, but there were no witnesses. He said he found her at the foot of the stairs, the hem of her gown torn and caught on the toe of her shoe.”
“It could be true,” Dianthe said uncertainly. “It could have been an accident.”
He shook his head. “Charlotte was ever graceful, and never untidy. She would not have left her room wearing a torn gown, nor would she have tripped on the stairs.”
“But—”
“Bloody goddamned hell! You doubt every word out of my mouth, yet believe a bounder like Munro? Is there no end to your contempt for me?”
“Lord Geoffrey, I—”
“I tried to protect her and Constance and the others, but it was not enough! It’s never enough.”
“Protect…” The single word was whispered, as if something suddenly made sense to her.
She lifted her hand as if she would reach out to him, but the coach pulled up in front of the house on Salisbury Street. He jumped out and handed her down. When she was safely on the pavement, he left her to follow as he entered the house, then he walked through and out the back to the stables. He didn’t dare stay in the same house with her in his present mood.
When he hadn’t been at the tavern in Whitefriars, Geoff knew he’d find Harry at his favorite brothel. While the Abbess rousted his colleague from whoever’s bed he was in, Geoff waited in a private parlor. He poured himself a healthy draft of bad brandy from a decanter on a cart and went to sit in front of the small fireplace.
Perhaps he should avail himself of a prostitute while he was here. He had better find some way to purge Dianthe Lovejoy from his blood. She was all he could see. She was constantly in his thoughts.
Worse, he was making her into a demi-vierge—a half virgin, technically untouched, but not inexperienced. He was making her into every man’s dream—the virginwhore. A prostitute would never satisfy when all he wanted was a prudish, judgmental, stubborn, headstrong, untried little minx just becoming aware of her own sexuality. What scant honor he still possessed forbade him taking her. What remained of his soul demanded it.
Geoff had done things—horrible things, unspeakable things—in his quest for revenge. Making el-Daibul pay for the countless murders he’d committed, the women he’d kidnapped, sold and killed, had become all he knew of life these last five years. And it had served him by making him unfit for the one thing he now wanted more than life.
“Blast and be damned,” he mutter
ed into the silence.
“Exactly what I was saying,” Sir Harry exclaimed as he came into the parlor, still tucking his shirt into his breeches. “‘What the bloody hell can Morgan want?’ I’d have made you come to me, but Bess would have none of it. She’d charge me double, she said.” He laughed and poured himself a brandy before joining Geoff at the fire. “Now what is this about?”
“Hire an investigator to look into Nell’s past. I want to know who she really is, where she came from and what she was doing in Vauxhall Gardens that night.”
“Hell, she was your mistress last year, Morgan. Don’t you know her past?”
“Never came up,” he growled.
Harry laughed. “I’ll bet I know what did.”
Geoff could only raise an eyebrow to express his distaste for the turn the conversation had taken.
“Fine,” Harry said. “I’ll hire one of Bow Street’s best. But why the sudden curiosity?”
“Not so sudden,” he muttered. There were so damn many factors at work here—Nell’s death, and the manner of her death. The resemblance between Miss Lovejoy and Nell Brookes had always bothered him, then Miss Lovejoy’s calling card showing up in Nell’s lodging house. He was too cynical to believe in coincidences. Nell’s death had to have something to do with either Miss Lovejoy or his investigation into the abductions. Not both.
He looked up at Harry again. “I think Nell’s murder has something to do with el-Daibul. I heard that she thought she had found a way to set herself up for life. Sounds more like blackmail than a wealthy lover. Could she have stumbled across information about the kidnappings and demanded hush money?”
Harry’s smile faded and he grew somber. “You’re right. Where would she find a wealthy lover? Someone would have known.”
“As it happens, I’ve also learned that she told Elvina Gibson she was afraid of someone. Blackmail is a filthy business. Nell wouldn’t be the first to be killed instead of being paid. I’ll question Elvina more closely on that tomorrow.”
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